She never asked. Not once.
I promised a million answers after that Christmas, but Reese never asked. It was like Angie no longer existed in her mind.
She never asked if I had sex with Angie in Costa Rica. I didn’t.
She never asked about my memories of Angie—our engagement, how I felt about her, or why I said yes when she proposed. And unless Angie told someone, the truth remained buried in the past.
I said yes because she was my friend. I said yes because my family adored her. I said yes because she had just lost her mother. I said yes because we were good enough together. And I said yes because I had already let the one go.
But the most revealing part of my memory returning involved the morning of the day of my accident. While the accident itself still remained a black hole in my mind, and for good reasons probably always would, I recalled the heated argument I had with Angie.
Irritation.
Pressure.
Regret.
She had been moving a hundred miles per hour with wedding plans, and it made it hard to breathe. What should have been a happy time in my life felt like impending doom. So after she showed me tux swatch number eight hundred and fifty and asked my opinion on ten different shades of fucking white for the linens at the reception, I cracked. I said some things I instantly regretted. As tears rolled down her cheeks, she muttered the words, “Do you even want to marry me?”
And I spoke my truth with a whispered, “No.”
I wasn’t engaged when the truck knocked me off my motorcycle. And Angie shared everything about our past that suited her narrative, her desperation to keep me. And given the short amount of time between breaking off our engagement and the accident that afternoon, nobody else knew the truth.
The funny part? I wasn’t mad. People did desperate things for love. Angie didn’t know about my relationship with Reese. She didn’t think her slight omission was hurting anyone. Her actions, although dishonest, were also out of love. She did love me. She did take care of me after my accident as I had taken care of her after her mom died. And maybe she thought I would fall in love with her again. My accident serving as a reset on our relationship.
So what?
It didn’t stop me from falling in love with Reese for a second time.
It didn’t stop her from giving me all the yeses.
And since I never told anyone but Reese and my doctor about my memory returning, it really didn’t matter.
So as Rory and Rose walked Reese down the aisle, I fought the ache in my chest, the feeling that I was undeserving of such perfection. She was about to marry me without the answers to her million questions. Reese loved me like I had always imagined God (if He existed) loved us.
My heart pounded so violently; it was hard to hear past the whooshing sound in my ears. But the second Rory and Rose took their seats, and Reese placed her hand in mine, my heart found its normal rhythm again, and I could hear the final notes of the harp and her whispered, “Hey, handsome,” as she grinned.
I swallowed so hard and fought to keep my shit together. There was no way I was going to cry when my girl showed such control, like marrying me was just the next simple step in her journey.
I made it to the end with dry eyes, but just barely. Reese gave away a tear or two when I said the words “I do.” And my thumbs quickly caught them as the minister gave me permission to kiss my bride.
For a guy who was in no hurry to get married, I walked my wife out of that church with a puffed-out chest and the cheesiest grin.
“It’s likely I won’t be able to answer my phone, but I’ll call you as soon as possible. If things get really sticky, you know my mom and Rose will happily come help. If it’s an actual emergency—”
“Call 9-1-1. Got it,” I said.
Reese frowned. “Of course, but I was going to say, call Holly. She’s not on call, but she lives across the street from the birth center.”
“You know … this isn’t my first rodeo.” I rocked our little girl like the fucking pro I was while our three-year-old son played in his room. It was Reese’s first full day back to work (her first birth) since maternity leave.
I knew how to warm milk and thaw more if needed.
Diapers? No problem.
Crying? I had the best football hold and most soothing gait in the whole damn state, and my wife knew it.
It was the weekend, so there was a one hundred percent chance her family and mine would be popping in nonstop to get their baby fix or take Aiden to the park and to get ice cream.